run, run, as fast as you can
by Noree
Summary: They did not accept the fates they were given, carving their own place in this cold land and ignoring the pleas they hear wherever they go - "Dragonborn, Dragonborn." They cry. The gods do not take kindly to thwarted gifts.


- (ERI)

It isn't long before her bow is in her hands again, her movements poised in the dark, arrow strung and waiting to shot down her next victim. Her thumb brushes over the engravings on the bow near the grip, the vines creating an intricate patterns up and down the piece of wood. She recalls the supple ebony caving at the slightest touch of a knife. A trader had offered her a hefty sum for the bow, but she had spent to long carving it on the lonely road to part with it.

Taking aim at her target, she slowly released her breath, letting her arrow go at the same time. A dark line slices across the room, hitting the unsuspecting bandit. They fall, a throttle noise escaping the bandit's throat. It's the sound of death. The body falls onto the ground in a heap, the legs bending in ways that no living person could stand. Crouching low to the ground, she approaches the fallen body slowly, in hopes of not alerting another other living being that may be nearby. The loot off the body isn't much, a few low quality arrows and fewer coins. Eri retrieves her ebony arrow, which had gone straight through the bandit's neck and a few inches into the wall behind them. Using her foot, she straightened the bandits body and looked over the armour. She knocks on the iron a few times, wanting to test it's strength. It's good enough quality to gain her some more coin, but the last three bandits she had killed earlier were the same. Anymore armour, and she might topple over.

With a wistful expression, she looks over the fur boots on the dead bandit's body. Her shoe collection would just have to suffer.

- (ERI)

The inner sanctum of the dungeon is damp, musky and Eri doesn't really expect anything different. The little light that manages to make its way into the large, echoing chamber illuminates the dust and swinging cobwebs that litter the air. The path she needs is broken, crumbling rocks and fallen columns blocks her way to the wordwall (_it calls to her, like all the others – vision weak and ears aching at the sound of her kin long past_). She's thankful for the cover that the shadows give her, as the draugr that is guarding the wall (and the subsequent chest she knows is there) does not wake. Crouching low and moving slowly, Eri sticks to the wall behind her, edging along until she gets a good, clear look at the draugr. It was hunched over and resting on its elbows, black ebony helmet giving off a shine in the candlelight. An ebony sword is at the draugr's belt, and the idea of having to face the creature freezes Eri for a second. She was never good at hand-to-hand combat or using any sort of blade. Her body has always ached for shadows and she prefers to sneak past opponents she couldn't take down with an arrow or two.

Grabbing her bow, she strings her first arrow and gets into place. It takes a few more arrows than the would have liked to get the bloody draugr down (the first two had missed – she wasn't expecting it to move so quickly). By the time the draugr is down for the count, it's a scant few feet away from her. It was a close call, and Eri grumbles the entire way to wordwall over her lost arrows. The draugr doesn't give her much in terms of loot, a few semi-precious gems and a small bottle of poison, but the sword (and the oh-so lovely enchantment it came with) should make up for the general lack of coin there is in this dungeon. She stares at the face of the draugr. It's wrinkled and the skin is translucent enough that she can see a few veins run its course along the hollow cheeks. The empty eye-sockets are what get to her, sending shivers down her spine and rising the hair on her arms (or maybe that's just the cold? These dungeons do get quite a draft). Deciding that she's had enough of this dungeon (she's spend a good day here and she's famished), Eri quickly grabs the valuables from the chest, learns her new word (oh hail Nocturnal, it's time to clear skies!), and searches for the secret door she knows will lead her out of here.

With an "Aha!" and the shifting of a cave wall, Eri finally gets out of the gods-forsaken dungeon.

- (ERI)

When she finally returns to Markarth, there isn't much to put away, having passed enough travelling caravans and traders on the road to sell her loot to. Stepping into the main living room of Vlindrel Hall, Eri notices that it's oddly quiet. Argis, her housecarl and close friend, has probably taken her daughter out to the market for the day. The little one has a sharp silver-tongue, one that lets her sweep unsuspecting merchants off their feet and lets her walk away from stalls with more items than her money bag would be able to buy.

Eri leans against the nearest table and drops her bow (and the one small axe she carries) on the nearest surface. She had run into a courier some steps away from the gates. They had looked out of breath and slightly annoyed. Finding the courier in such a mood was expected, as searching for her whereabouts at any given moment was a chore (and half the time she doesn't even know where she is). But they handed her the messages she had missed anyways, happy to get the heavy stack out of the way.

Going through them now, Eri notices that there are a number of inheritance for her (and surprisingly enough, one for Sofie). From a few elderly country folk she had helped with some menial task to friend's she had made from when she had began her new life in Skyrim. Pocketing the gold and the one odd-looking staff, Eri tosses the read letters one by one into the fire. Near the end, one letter begins to stand out. It was of a finer quality paper than any of the others, the texture smooth and almost silk-like under her fingertips. There's an intricate design along the border, done in a purple, curving style. Falkreath, then. She never found it within herself to like the hold, while it was beautiful there was a hidden darkness about it that she could never get over.

Breaking the seal, Eri glances over the letter. "_Eriana Lorthale... honour to be the Jarl... blah blah blah... fame of your exploits across Falkreath? ...Thane of Falkreath... land in Falkreath available for purchase... _Thane of Falkreath?!" Siddgeir and Dengeir had both, on the few multiple visits to Falkreath, made it plainly aware that they were not welcome to... her kind at all. Dengeir is nothing but paranoid and Siddgeir had stuck his nose up at her, muttering about how her kind should have never stepped foot into reads the letter a few more times to make sure that the offer is genuine. While she might not like having to deal with the Jarl, having her own house would be best. Having to quickly and quietly slip out (or in, for the matter) of Markarth after a successful murder isn't always the easiest. Also, the fresh country air would be good for Sofie and her fragile constitution. Now having made up her mind, Eri switches into her city clothes (walking around town in full-armour usually leads to her being followed by a few guards) and equips her lesser hunting bow and a few steel arrows – if she runs into anything she hopes the destruction spells she has learned will pay off.

It's mucky and horribly humid when she reaches the Markarth marketplace. It has obviously rained hours before her arrival, and she begins to notice the signs as she wades her way through the crowds. The stray dog soaking in a dirty puddle, the wet heads of the handlers.


End file.
